


His Heart Hungers

by Esteliel



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar (Barbican 2019), Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 11:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20389006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: When Jesus dives into the crowd, they catch him eagerly and he laughs, crowd surfing on hundreds of hands. Judas has nightmares full of those moments when he stretches his hand out to Jesus to pull him back onto the stage, and no matter how much he strains, he cannot reach him.Based on the Barbican 2019 production with Ricardo Afonso as Judas and Robert Tripolino as Jesus.





	His Heart Hungers

He still remembers so clearly what it was like at the beginning—those first few gigs, days flooded with light and laughter, Jesus during sound check on a tiny open air stage that would soon reek of beer and sweat. Back then, before the masses flooded in, there was something almost holy about those intimate glimpses of Jesus lifting his guitar, pressing his plectrum to his lips, his face shining so innocently in the sunlight as he smiles down from his perch atop a speaker at the grassy spot where soon, a hundred people will stretch out their hands to him and shout his name.

These days, Judas is full of terror when he contemplates the large space they’re playing today. Jerusalem. No more gigs in shitty clubs; they’ve outgrown that sort of thing long ago. These days, there are crowds of fifty thousand, and still Jesus smiles, a sweet boyishness clinging to him after all these years as he stands above them with his eyeliner and his acoustic guitar until Judas’ heart feels like it will burst with love and need and a strange terror he cannot explain.

When Jesus dives into the crowd, they catch him eagerly and he laughs, crowd surfing on hundreds of hands. Judas has nightmares full of those moments when he stretches his hand out to Jesus to pull him back onto the stage, and no matter how much he strains, he cannot reach him. Jesus is reaching out for him too—but when the crowd surges and carries him away from Judas, he laughs. Never a moment’s fear. And it’s true that so far, nothing has happened.

It will. Judas doesn’t know where this certainty comes from, but even as he watches Jesus on the stage, bathed in light as he gets ready for the gig later tonight, terror pierces his heart with the sharp sting of thorns.

It’s too much. Too soon. One of these days, the crowd will carry Jesus away from him, and then where will he be with that light gone from his life?

Jesus is at the height of his fame, barely even thirty. There were silver hairs already in Judas’ beard when they first met. He’s got no right to demand anything of him.

But his heart hungers with such desperation that these days, all he can feel is fear.

***

Judas isn’t entirely proud of his clashes with Mary. He knows that Jesus thinks its just jealousy, but there’s more to it. Judas might be going gray, but at least he knows to keep their thing mostly out of the spotlights. Mary has no such compunctions, and when she wipes Jesus’ face with a towel after a gig or rubs a cooling ointment into his hands, Judas is just waiting for the flash of cameras to go off. Sure, she’s pretty, and she’s Jesus’ age—but here’s the thing: the press won’t care, not when they find out she used to be a prostitute. It’s going to be all anyone will talk about, and that when they’re finally going to play Jerusalem.

Not something Judas approves of either, but he knows he won’t be able to stay away regardless. He’s already in too deep. He’ll go where Jesus will go, like a moth drawn to the flame, no matter where it leads him.

***

It doesn’t even take more than a few hours after their argument until Judas is back.

He’s told himself that he just wants to make sure that Mary isn’t in Jesus’ room, but when Jesus opens the door, Judas can’t help but think of their fight, Jesus’ words still echoing in his head.

He’s still not sure what he meant by it. Maybe Jesus has finally succumbed to the same dark moods Judas can no longer escape from. Maybe Jesus, too, has finally started to realize that his fame will be the death of him one day.

“You’re not going to be gone,” Judas says roughly, forcing his way in through the door, and Jesus gladly gives way and laughs, sweetly, as he closes the door behind Judas, Judas mouth already on his.

It’s his desperation that makes him greedy, but Jesus has never minded that. He’s never minded Judas’ age either—or his experience, come to think of it.

At least Judas has never sold himself.

He pushes the uncharitable thought away, focusing on what he has before him. It’s what Jesus told him to do after all. Appreciate him while he’s here. Hold him while he can.

Judas pushes him back onto the bed and Jesus falls gladly. He laughs again when Judas pushes up his shirt and fights with his trousers. Jesus lifts his hips and helps him push them down, and then he’s in Judas’ mouth, half-hard but swelling rapidly as Judas begins to suck him off with all the desperation that makes him constantly pick fights these days.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

He doesn’t say it out loud, he never has, but he says it with every motion, every touch. It’s in the urgency of his mouth and tongue. His hands run desperately over Jesus’ hips, his stomach, his chest, as Jesus writhes beneath him with breathless little gasps.

He loves him. There’s more despair in it than anything, but even so he doesn’t stop until Jesus finally comes in his mouth, lithe body arching, and Judas swallows with despair too, tasting bitterness and the salt of the tears he’s desperately trying to hold back.

Later that night, he’s wide awake as Jesus sleeps, his head on Judas’ shoulder. There’s a faint smile on Jesus’ lips even now, and Judas cannot look away from it.

It would all be so easy if they could just go back to this. What happened to those simple days, the flash of Jesus’ dark eyes as he tunes his guitar in the sunlight, the nights of warmth and breathless kisses, Judas’ body damp with sweat as he holds Jesus tightly in a dingy motel room?

It’s all Judas needs. It’s all he wants. Take away the crowds, the fame, the big arenas Jesus now plays, and Judas would be just as happy.

***

Jerusalem changes everything. Not because of the crowd. Not because of the soldiers. Not because at last Jesus’ crowd surfing habits carry him out of reach of Judas’ arms forever.

It’s because at the end of Jesus’ set, with the crowd filling the arena dancing and singing and waving, Jesus pulls Judas out into the spotlight and hugs him, in full view of everyone. For a moment, everything feels all right again. It’s just the two of them, despite the crowd, Jesus’ scent filling his senses. And then, for a moment, the crowd’s frenzy turns into something terrifying and murderous, and Jesus smiles at him with such sweetness that Judas knows he can feel it too. Worse: Jesus has known it all along.

Judas shakes his head in disbelief and terror, but Jesus’ arms are still around him as he smiles. His body is warm and smells faintly of sweat after his set, he’s as relaxed as he was in bed last night when he fell asleep in Judas’ arms, and Judas knows that he’s already lost him.

“No,” Judas says tonelessly, the sound lost in the wild chanting of the crowd below. He shakes his head, and still Jesus smiles, the way he smiled when Judas first kissed him, years ago, if that was ever real.

Was any of it ever real? Or was it all in Judas’ head?

Judas can see it now. The terror that has been in his heart all along, that’s been real too. Jesus feels it. Jesus knows the danger of his fame, of the crowds that fill arenas, a danger his guitar won’t be able to defend him against.

He’s not afraid of it because he wants it. All this time, Jesus has been waiting for it. Even now, he’s smiling at the threat of death the way he smiled at Judas.

Judas has already lost him. Not to Mary, not to the crowds—but to a madness. To the creeping, terrifying sense of dread and death that has been lying in wait patiently for the past few years.

Judas is still staring at Jesus in shock and at last Jesus releases him, still smiling at him with such sweetness that Judas cannot bear it. He watches as Jesus walks away, watches as later, after the gig, Jesus nods to Peter, the two of them finding a quiet corner to strum their guitars.

It’s just like it used to be. No crowd, just two friends with two guitars, quiet notes filling the air.

It’s how Judas fell in love with him, hopelessly, the first time he saw him play.

Has Jesus ever truly loved him? Maybe he’s been mad from the start. Maybe, even during those quiet nights when Judas was deep inside him, Jesus’ mouth hot and hungry against his throat as they clutched at each other, maybe even then Jesus was never truly his.

Maybe he’s used Judas like he’s used the crowd to get what he wants: the glory, the notoriety, the press—the martyr’s death of a rock star at the height of his fame.

Peter and Jesus are still playing, fingers picking at strings, playing not for the crowds or for fame but simply for the joy of it, out of sight of anyone but Judas.

Even in that simple melody, suddenly all Judas can hear is the mournful sound of inexorably approaching tragedy.

Jesus’ head is bent over his guitar. He’s forgotten everything around him but the sound of Peter’s guitar, their harmonies echoing through the darkness. Jesus’ hair is disheveled, damp with sweat.

Judas knows how his sweat tastes, how his hair smells. He’s never wanted anything more than he wants Jesus in that moment. He wants to hold him close, to clutch at him until his fingers leave bruises, to be inside him and press him down into a bed and fuck him, to have Jesus’ hips slide against his, slick with sweat and trembling with need as Jesus takes him while Judas clutches at his shoulders, rakes his nails across his skin, murmurs wordless prayers against Jesus’ throat that all come down to one thing:

_Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me._

But Jesus has already left him. It’s not Judas Jesus is thinking of now. Judas can hear it in each of those crystal-clear notes that cut him to the core.

At last, Judas turns away and leaves.

He’s numb. There’s nothing but despair in him now. He can barely see where he’s going, but that’s all right.

It doesn’t matter now anyway.


End file.
